Tales From Yew Tree Farm
by dustnik
Summary: Set in 1926. Thomas and Andy's adventures at Yew Tree Farm.


One Saturday night after the servants' dinner, Thomas and Andy were seated at the Grantham Arms throwing back a few pints. At the next table, two rough-looking farmhands were studying them closely, and when the servants took their leave, the pair quickly followed. One was very large with a bulbous nose and beady eyes while the other was small with a shock of red hair. Once they were outside, the larger man drawled, "Well, if it isn't the nancy-boy from the big house."

Thomas' back stiffened, but he continued on without a word.

"Are you out on a date?" the smaller one taunted.

Andy stopped and turned toward them angrily. "Just keep walking," Thomas hissed under his breath, increasing his pace.

"I think they want to be alone," the big man spoke again, and the pair broke into peals of laughter.

When Thomas and Andy were out of their earshot, Andy asked in disbelief, "Why did you let them talk to you that way? Why didn't you do something?"

"I've been dealing with prats like that all my life. If you ignore them, sometimes they go away."

"What about the other times?"

"They beat the hell out of you."

Two days later, Andy left Yew Tree Farm after bidding Mr. Mason goodbye. As soon as he was out of sight of the farm, he was aware of hurried footsteps in the gravel behind him. He turned and recognized the two men from the pub. Were they following him?

"Where's your boyfriend?" the red-haired one asked mockingly.

Andy kept his head down, remembering Thomas' advice.

"I asked you a question. Where's your boyfriend, the butler chap? Oh, we know all about him alright."

Andy gritted his teeth and kept on, but the two men would not be put off. They descended on him, knocking him to the ground and holding him down. The footman struggled to get up as the bigger man spoke. "We don't want your kind around here." He balled up his massive fist and plunged it hard into Andy's left eye. The force of the blow caused the footman's mouth to snap shut, and the pain nearly made him black out.

"Tell your boyfriend when we see him again, he'll get worse than that."

Andy struggled unsteadily to his feet. He raised a shaky hand to his face and was gratified that there was no blood there, at least. By that time, the two men were walking off in the other direction. He wanted to follow after them but knew he couldn't be late getting back.

The staff was congregated around the table in the servants' hall for their tea when Andy entered and took his seat glowering. "What happened to you?" Thomas asked him while the other servants let out little gasps.

"It's nothing, Mr. Barrow," the footman mumbled, struggling to come up with a believable excuse. "Uh—one of the pigs pushed me up against the side of the pen, that's all."

The butler rose to his feet. "Let me take a look at it."

"I said it's fine," Andy snapped.

Thomas seemed taken aback. "Well, put some ice on it anyway."

"I'll get it," Daisy offered. She disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a tea towel full of ice which she pressed gently to the footman's eye, causing him to wince. "You're going to have an awful shiner, Andy," she fretted.

"Yes, I'm afraid so," Mrs. Hughes agreed sympathetically. "What will His Lordship say, I wonder?"

"Well, he can't complain too much. They're his pigs, after all," Thomas replied dryly.

Andy started to get up. "I have to wash and change into my livery. It's almost time to serve tea."

Thomas laid a firm hand on his shoulder. "No, you stay here and take care of that eye. I'll serve the tea. Is everything ready to go up, Mrs. Patmore?"

"It will be, Mr. Barrow." The cook set down her cup and hurried off to the kitchen.

Upon seeing the butler carrying the tea tray into the library, Robert immediately asked, "Where's Andrew?"

"He's downstairs, m'lord. He got injured at Mr. Mason's farm, and Daisy's seeing to him."

"Is it serious? Should we send for Dr. Clarkson?" Cora was quick to offer.

"That won't be necessary, m'lady. It's only a black eye."

"Oh, the poor thing. How did it happen?"

"He said a pig knocked him against the side of the pen."

Robert looked concerned. "Tell him to be careful. They're strong animals and can be dangerous."

"Yes, Your Lordship, I'll tell him."

The next day, Andy returned from Mr. Mason's farm, keeping a sharp eye out for his attackers. The two men were nowhere to be seen, but the following day, they were once again lying in wait for him. "Look, I don't want any trouble, alright?" Andy pleaded.

"Did you give your boyfriend our message."

"He's not my boyfriend. You've got it all wrong."

The larger man turned to the smaller, red-haired one and smiled. "I don't think he got the message the first time. I guess we'll have to tell him again." This time, the fist caught Andy's right eye, causing him to let out a little yelp of pain.

The footman hurriedly made his way back to the Abbey, trying to concoct a plausible story to explain this latest injury. The servants were once more assembled for their tea when he stormed in. "Blimey, not again," Mrs. Patmore exclaimed in disbelief.

Thomas looked up to see the footman lowering himself into his chair. "How did it happen this time?" he inquired acidly.

Andy hated to lie to Thomas, but he saw no other option. "The pigs—"

"The pigs again," Thomas repeated in a tone that clearly said he didn't believe him. "I'd better take up the tea now and give His Lordship an early warning."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Barrow."

"We'll talk about this later, Andrew." The footman had never heard Thomas call him Andrew below stairs before and knew he was angry.

That night after the upstairs dinner, the family members were taking their coffee in the drawing room as usual. As Andy leaned in to serve Lady Mary, she looked up at the young man's battered face. "Are you alright, Andrew?"

"Yes, m'lady. It looks worse than it feels."

"I doubt that. But I wonder if it might be too much for you, working with the pigs."

Andy began to panic. "Please, don't make me give them up."

"What does Mr. Barrow say?"

"Nothing yet," Andy admitted. "He said we'd talk about it later."

"Well, I'll leave it up to him then."

"Yes, m'lady."

After the servants' dinner that night, Thomas ordered the black-eyed footman into his pantry and indicated a chair in front of his desk. He was reminded of a picture he once saw in a magazine of a giant panda. "Now I want to hear what really happened to your face."

"I already told you, Mr. Barrow. It was the pigs."

"I see," Thomas replied icily. "Then maybe you should stay away from them in the future."

"Don't make me. I'll be more careful. I promise."

Thomas leaned back in his chair and sighed.

The next morning after the upstairs breakfast was finished, the butler headed resolutely to Yew Tree Farm. He spotted Mr. Mason in front of his cottage sharpening an ax. The old man looked up in surprise as the dapper servant approached. "What brings you here, Mr. Barrow?"

"I wanted to talk to you about Andy."

Mason smiled. "He's a cracking lad, that one, and sweet on our Daisy. I wouldn't mind seeing something come of that."

Thomas waved all that aside. "Actually, I was wondering about those bruises on his face."

"His eye, you mean. A nasty shiner that."

"Do you know how it happened?"

The farmer seemed confused. "Why, he told me he got it moving furniture—a drawer fell out and hit him."

"He told us a pig knocked him up against the pen."

"Nay. It didn't happen here."

"And yesterday, he came back with another black eye which he blamed on the pigs again."

"I don't understand. When he left here, his other eye was fine."

"Then whatever's going on is happening on his way home," Thomas mused.

The old man looked concerned. "Is Andy in some kind of trouble, Mr. Barrow?"

"I don't know, but I mean to find out. Please, don't mention this to him."

Later, Thomas followed at a distance as Andy left the farm, taking a circuitous route home. The journey proved to be uneventful as did the next day's, but on the third day, the butler saw a couple of men approach Andy and begin to shove him about. As Thomas got nearer, he heard the smaller one say, "You thought you could hide from us, but we found you anyway."

"What do you want from me?" Andy asked in frustration. He knew he couldn't return with any more bruises if he wanted to continue coming to the farm.

"You're not a quick learner, are you?" The larger man pulled back his fist, ready to strike the young footman again when he heard a voice from behind him.

"Leave him alone!" They all turned to see an enraged Thomas approaching.

"Cor, and here's his boyfriend to the rescue," the red-haired man said mockingly. Thomas landed him a hard blow to the jaw, and he crumpled to the ground.

The larger man looked frightened as he saw that he was now outnumbered. "T-there was no call to do that. We were only having a bit of fun."

Thomas turned to Andy. "Are these the men that hurt you?"

The footman lowered his head and nodded.

Thomas addressed the attacker. "If you ever come near him or me again, you'll get what your friend got. Do you understand?" He spoke quietly, but there was no mistaking the menace in his voice. "Come on, Andy." The two servants headed off toward the Abbey.

They walked in silence for several minutes before the footman spoke. "Were you following me?"

"I knew something was going on. Why couldn't you tell me the truth?"

Andy hesitated. "I was too ashamed. I let myself get beaten without even fighting back. I'm a coward."

Thomas was quick to reassure him. "You're not a coward, Andy. There were two of them and only one of you. You would have been hurt worse if you had fought back." He was rubbing his swollen hand.

"It's not broken, is it?" the footman asked in concern.

"No, I don't think so," Thomas replied, opening and closing his fist several times. The knuckles were bruised and bleeding.

"Where did you learn to fight like that?"

Thomas paused before answering. "When you're like me, you need to be able to defend yourself."

"Will you teach me?"

Thomas fixed him with a pointed look. "I don't need to because you won't be getting in any more fights, will you?"

"No, Mr. Barrow," Andy replied sheepishly.

"I'm really sorry that you were hurt because of me."

"You won't tell the others, will you—about what really happened?"

"Of course not. No one else has to know."

As soon as they were downstairs, Andy filled a wide, shallow bowl with cold water, and Thomas gingerly lowered his hand into it.

"Now how did that happen?" Mrs. Hughes inquired incredulously.

Thomas winked at Andy. "It was the pigs."

* * *

The following week during the servants' luncheon, Andy looked up toward the new butler. "Mr. Barrow, would it be alright if I walked down to the farm after I finish serving upstairs? I want to check on the new piglets."

"I suppose so, as long as you're back by teatime."

Andy smiled broadly. "Can Daisy come with me?"

"What's this then?" Mrs. Patmore chimed in.

Daisy looked up from her plate frowning. "I don't want to go see any pigs."

Undeterred, the footman turned to Thomas. "What about you, Mr. Barrow? Do you fancy a walk?"

The butler had no interest in pigs, but the day was fine, and he enjoyed the young man's company. "I suppose it might be nice to stretch my legs a bit."

"Better you than me," Daisy mumbled under her breath.

Later, the two men set out in the direction of the farm, Thomas matching his steps to the lanky footman's long strides. The butler was confused by the exchange at lunch. "What's the matter with Daisy? You two haven't fallen out, have you?"

"She's angry because I forgot her birthday yesterday. I said I was sorry, but she hasn't forgiven me yet."

Thomas nodded an understanding. He'd noted that the assistant cook had been sulky all morning, slamming the pots and pans about and grumbling to herself. "Give her time. She'll get over it."

"Women sure are a lot of trouble."

The butler agreed, although he knew it wasn't something he was likely to be bothered with.

The two men soon arrived at a barn where a massive sow lay on her side, a litter of tiny, pink piglets attached to her engorged teats. "Aren't they beautiful?" Andy gushed. Thomas found the sight somewhat disgusting but wisely kept his feelings to himself. They exited the barn and made their way to the large pigsty.

Thomas wrinkled his long nose. "Ugh! How do you stand the smell?"

"Aw, it smells like heaven to me, Mr. Barrow."

The butler looked idly about the farmyard. His eyes caught sight of a brawny, blond man in the distance with a pitchfork in his hand. "Who's that?" he asked, trying to sound disinterested.

"Oh, that's Paul. He's here to help with the piglets. I can't be here all the time, so Mr. Mason took him on."

The farmhand spotted Andy and waved, quickly making his way over to the two servants. "Nice day," he remarked, removing his hat and wiping his sweat-stained brow. The clear blue of his eyes stood out in sharp contrast to his deeply tanned skin and corn-colored hair.

Andy made the introduction. "This is Mr. Barrow. I told you about him."

Paul smiled, revealing two rows of even, white teeth. "You're the butler at the big house."

"I am." Why couldn't he think of anything to say? Here he was, standing in front of one of the most beautiful men he had ever seen, and he was suddenly tongue-tied. "I'd better be getting back," he finally managed to mumble. He turned to go and immediately stepped into a pile of fresh horse manure. "Damn," he muttered.

The other two men were trying hard not to laugh. "Would you like me to clean that off for you, Mr. Barrow?" Paul offered.

Thomas was embarrassed and angry at himself for looking a fool. "I'll have the hallboy do it when I get to the Abbey. We have a whole room downstairs just for cleaning shoes and boots."

"Have you now?" Paul smiled widely. "Think of that."

"I'll see you back in time for tea, Andy. Don't be late." As he walked away, he felt two sets of eyes on his retreating back. He couldn't get the image of the handsome farmhand out of his mind, even though he wasn't Thomas' type at all. The butler usually found himself drawn to small, self-involved, pretty-boys like Kemal Pamuk and Jimmy Kent.

That night at the servants' dinner, Andy was happily relating the details of their visit to the farm. Daisy rolled her eyes. "Not the pigs again. I wish you were half as interested in me as you are in those smelly old pigs."

"What do you mean?" Andy seemed genuinely confused when everyone laughed. Then he added something else. "Oh, Mr. Barrow, Paul said the next time you come to the farm, he'll loan you some boots."

"What's this?" Mr. Bates asked in amusement.

"It's nothing," Thomas growled, feeling his cheeks redden.

The days passed, and more and more piglets were born. It was a particularly busy time for Mr. Mason, and Andy was eager to help. One afternoon, he hesitantly approached Thomas after clearing the dining room after the family's luncheon. "Would it be alright if I went down to the farm again?"

"Andy, you've been there every day this week. I wanted you to polish some silver."

"Can't Billy do it? Mr. Mason needs me. He and old Joe can't manage on their own."

Thomas became curious. "What about Paul?"

"He got kicked in the side by a horse. He's still pretty sore and can't really do much yet."

"Has Dr. Clarkson seen to him?" Thomas was suddenly concerned.

"I'm not sure."

"Alright then. I'll come with you. I don't know anything about pigs, but maybe I can make myself useful."

Andy looked taken aback. "You want to help too?"

"Why not?"

After luncheon was served, the two changed their clothes and set off down the lane leading to Yew Tree Farm. Andy was babbling on about the pigs again, causing Thomas to sympathize with poor Daisy. They arrived to find Mr. Mason in one of the barns assisting a grunting sow. "It's her first litter, and she's not having an easy time of it," he told them.

"What can we do to help?" Andy offered.

The old man looked curiously at Thomas. "Mr. Barrow?" He then turned to Andy. "There's another one farrowing in the back there. You might see to her."

"Right." Andy immediately stripped down to his vest, carefully folding his clothing over a nearby chair. They quickly found the other sow and the single piglet she had expelled.

Thomas looked on helplessly. "What do you want me to do?"

Andy nodded to a clean towel resting on another stall. "You can dry off the pigs as they're born. I'm going to try and help her along."

Thomas removed his coat and tie and rolled up his sleeves. He grabbed the towel and followed Andy into the stall. The footman was cooing softly to the heaving animal while Thomas attempted in vain to capture the piglet. Finally, he caught a leg, and the little creature began to squeal loudly. "I've got it," he announced proudly. Suddenly, he felt long arms around him, pulling him backward and pushing him roughly out of the stall. A second later, he heard a crash as the angry sow charged into the side of the pen where he had been standing.

"That was close," Andy panted. He had gone very pale.

Thomas stood speechless. He wasn't sure what had just happened, but he knew he could have been very seriously injured. "W-what did I do wrong?"

"You hurt her baby."

"I'll be more careful with the next one."

"No!" Andy was quick to reply. "You can't go back in there. She'd kill you."

Thomas didn't know what to say.

"I know you want to help, Mr. Barrow, but it might be better if you waited outside where she can't see you."

The butler agreed. "Will you be alright?"

Andy managed a weak smile. "It's you she's angry with, not me. I just need to calm her down again, so she can get on with things."

"I'm sorry, Andy," Thomas uttered weakly. Upon leaving the barn, he spotted Paul seated on a bench a distance away and made his way over to him.

The handsome farmhand was bottle-feeding a tiny, pink piglet and looked startled at his sudden appearance. "Mr. Barrow?"

"I came with Andy to see if I could help, but I was rather getting in the way." He was glad that Paul hadn't witnessed his near-demise. "Who's your friend?"

"His mother and the rest of the litter died. He's the only one left."

"What's his name?" Thomas took a seat beside Paul on the bench.

Paul threw back his head and laughed. "We don't name them, Mr. Barrow. They're not pets."

They conversed easily after that. Paul seemed fascinated by the butler's account of his duties at the Abbey, a world away from life on a farm. Thomas suddenly remembered something. "Andy told me you were injured."

Paul looked embarrassed. "I was stupid enough to let myself get kicked. I feel bad about letting Mr. Mason down."

"What did Dr. Clarkson say?"

"Oh, there was no need to bother the doctor. I'm sure it'll be fine in a few days."

"I could take a look at it—if you want me to, that is," Thomas asked nervously, quickly adding, "I was an army medic and an orderly at the hospital during the war."

Paul gingerly pulled his shirt out from inside his trousers, raising it to reveal his muscular chest. The skin was pale compared to the tawny color of his face, neck, and arms. There was an ugly bruise on his left side.

Thomas' long, pale fingers pressed gently on the discolored area, eliciting a grimace from the farmhand. "Does it hurt when you breathe?"

"Some, but it's worse when I move about."

"You probably broke some ribs."

"What can be done about it?"

"Not much. Dr. Clarkson can wrap them, and they'll feel a little better, but that's about it."

"Maybe I'll go round and see him later."

"You definitely should."

Thomas didn't notice that Andy had joined them. "Mr. Barrow?"

The butler looked up guiltily from his ministrations.

"We'd better start heading back now if we want to get there in time for tea."

"Is it that late already?" Being there with Paul, Thomas had lost all track of time. Reluctantly, he rose to go. Turning to the farmhand, he said, "Take care of those ribs."

When the two servants were safely out of hearing, Thomas turned to Andy. "I have to thank you for saving me from that pig back there. I guess I wasn't cut out to be a farmer."

"I'm only glad you weren't hurt."

"You won't tell anyone, will you? I feel enough of a fool as it is."

"Well, I know what that's like, right enough." Andy indicated the fading bruises around his eyes. He then changed the subject. "I wish I knew how to make Daisy happy. I always seem to say or do the wrong thing."

Thomas was hardly an expert on the subject of women, but even he had more insight than Andy. "Girls like a little romance—you know, candy and flowers and all that."

"Flowers?" The footman sounded unsure.

"We'll pick some on the way back. You can tell her you saw them and thought of her." The two men gathered an assortment of wildflowers before reaching the Abbey. "Now do you remember what to say?" Thomas asked.

"I think so, Mr. Barrow." Upon entering, he promptly sought out the assistant cook while Thomas listened outside the kitchen door.

"How were the pigs?" Daisy asked sulkily.

Andy handed her the bouquet he was hiding behind his back. "Uh—I saw these and thought of you."

The young woman's face broke into a huge smile. "Oh, Andy, they're beautiful. Thank you." She rose up on her toes to give him a little kiss as Mrs. Patmore looked on.

"That's enough of that, you two. Now go lay the table for tea, Daisy."

Thomas watched as the young cook passed him in the corridor still happily clutching the flowers. If only his own love life could be fixed so easily.

* * *

Several days later, Andy returned to the farm once again. He was to take a peach pie that Mrs. Patmore had baked for Mr. Mason but forgot, leaving it sitting in the kitchen. "That lad would forget his head if it wasn't screwed on," the older cook groused to Daisy. "I wanted Mr. Mason to have it for his supper tonight."

Thomas overheard the exchange. "I could take it if you like." The two women looked up at him in astonishment. He quickly added, "I need an excuse for a walk." A little while later, he set out for the farm and promptly delivered the pie to a rather surprised-looking Mr. Mason. "Is Andy about?" Thomas asked him.

"Aye, he's mucking out the stable." Mason indicated a rather ramshackle structure.

Thomas located the footman spreading straw into the stall of an enormous draft horse. Andy looked up in surprise. "Mr. Barrow? What are you doing here?"

"I brought Mr. Mason his pie." He pulled a face. "Mrs. Patmore was throwing a fit."

"The pie. I knew I'd forgotten something."

"So what are you doing anyway?"

"I'm replacing the old, soiled bedding with new, clean stuff." He reached for another forkful of straw from the pile behind him.

"And you prefer this to service?" Thomas' voice sounded incredulous

"I'm hoping if I do a good job, Mr. Mason will take me on full-time."

Thomas felt a wave of sadness. He had become fond of the young footman and would miss him. "He'd be lucky to have you," he declared, forcing a smile. "I'll go and let you get on with your work."

Upon exiting the barn, he spied Paul emptying pails of slop into the pig troughs, his tan, muscular arms glistening with sweat. Thomas felt a flutter of excitement pass through him as he imagined those arms wrapped around him. He continued to watch transfixed for several minutes until the farmhand spotted him and waved.

Thomas sidled up to him casually, careful not to appear too eager. "How are the ribs coming along?"

"They're getting better, Mr. Barrow."

"That's good."

Paul threw another bucket of slop into the trough as the pigs tucked in noisily.

"Maybe I should try that at the Abbey. It would certainly simplify the meal service."

Paul laughed. "What would all those lords and ladies say?"

"Some of them would be right at home in a pigsty." He was picturing Larry Grey. "But don't tell anyone I said that."

"If you're here to see Andy, I think he's in the stable."

"I already saw him." He added pensively, "He says he wants to leave service and stay on here."

Paul cocked his head to one side. "Would that be so bad?"

"I just don't want to see him make a mistake, that's all. He could have a good career in service, maybe even being promoted to valet someday."

"Would that make him happy?"

Thomas smiled ruefully. "No, I suppose not. I think he'd like to marry Daisy and settle down with her here."

Paul turned to look him in the eye. "What would make you happy, Mr. Barrow?"

Thomas was taken aback. He struggled to keep his voice light. "What makes you think I'm not happy?"

"Are you?"

He was spared a reply by Andy's sudden appearance. "What are you talking about?"

"Nothing," Thomas replied quickly. "Are you all finished?"

Andy nodded. "We'd better be getting back. It's almost time for tea."

"Right," Thomas agreed reluctantly.

The two men were strangely silent on the journey home, each lost in their own thoughts. Finally, Andy spoke. "Why did you really come here today?"

"I already told you, to bring Mr. Mason the pie."

"Daisy could have brought it back with her tonight."

"I felt like a walk. Besides, I wanted to see how Paul's ribs were coming along."

The footman looked at him curiously. "Do you fancy him, Mr. Barrow."

Thomas felt himself blush. "Of course not."

"He's a good-looking fellow, I reckon," Andy mused. "Is he—one of your sort?"

The butler found the conversation excruciatingly awkward.

"How can you tell anyway?"

Thomas looked away, wishing he were somewhere else.

Andy continued undeterred. "I don't mind, you know, about all that. I have Daisy now, and I want you to find someone too." When there was no reply, he added, "It's alright, Mr. Barrow. I won't tell anyone."

Thomas kept himself busy over the next few days and didn't return to Yew Tree Farm. _It's for the best_ , he told himself. If Andy had gleaned the truth, then old Mason was sure to as well, and soon everyone would know.

On his half-day, Andy invited Thomas to join him on his walk to the farm but was promptly refused. "Are you sure, Mr. Barrow? It's an awfully nice day."

The butler managed a weak smile, "I have to go over the inventories, and I'm expecting a wine delivery later."

"Well, if you change your mind—"

"I won't."

Andy just looked at the other man pityingly and sighed.

On Saturday night after the servants' dinner, Thomas was seated at a small table at the Grantham Arms with a pint of ale in front of him. It was his third, and he was beginning to feel its effects. To his surprise, Andy and Daisy strolled in. They quickly spotted him and came over. "Mind if we join you, Mr. Barrow?" Andy asked. Without waiting for a reply, they both took a seat.

"What are you doing here? I thought you were going to the pictures."

"We are, but we had some extra time, so I thought we'd stop in for a drink first."

Daisy seemed anxious to leave. "It wouldn't hurt to get there a little early."

"There's plenty of time," Andy assured her. He looked toward the door. "Isn't that Paul coming in?" He waved to the handsome farmhand who smiled and immediately headed over to their table. "Come join us," Andy invited him.

"Thank you." The man sat down, smiling warmly at Thomas. "Hello, Mr. Barrow. What are you drinking?"

"Uh—ale."

Paul motioned to the proprietor. "Four pints of ale."

Thomas kept his eyes lowered to the floor in mortification. He was going to kill Andy.

The beer arrived, and everyone drank in awkward silence. Andy looked from one man to the other frowning his displeasure. He finally turned to Paul. "Mr. Barrow likes to read. You should loan him some of your books."

"Do you enjoy poetry, Mr. Barrow?"

"Not much," Thomas replied tersely.

"I write it too. There's not much to do on a farm after the work is done for the day."

Daisy broke in. "Andy, if we don't go now, we're going to miss the start of the picture."

"Alright." The footman rose grudgingly. It was obvious he preferred the drama unfolding at the table to anything he would see on the screen.

When they were gone, Thomas found his voice. "You don't have to stay if you don't want to."

Paul looked confused. "Do you want me to leave?"

"No, but I'm sure you have better things to do on a Saturday night."

"As a matter of fact, I don't. Besides, I'm having a good time right here, Mr. Barrow."

The butler rewarded him with a broad smile. "The name is Thomas."

They ordered another round of drinks and soon slipped into relaxed conversation. Paul spoke about his life as an itinerant farm laborer, always on the move. "I've seen most of the country and met a lot of interesting people along the way."

"Don't you miss having a place to call home?" Thomas couldn't imagine living such a nomadic life.

"I can never stay in one place for long, or I start getting jumpy. Do you think of Downton Abbey as your home?"

"I suppose I do." He was remembering his brief time with Sir Mark and Lady Stiles and how grateful he had been to return. "I've been there a long time, and I guess I'll probably die there."

"It suits you—the big house and the sleek, elegant butler."

Thomas laughed at that description of himself. "You'll be surprised to hear that long before I was 'Mr. Barrow,' I was Tommy, a clockmaker's son from Manchester. I grew up living in rooms above the shop. My dad still lives there."

"Do you see him much?"

Thomas' face darkened. "He doesn't want anything to do with me. I have an older sister too, but I haven't seen her in years."

"Why not?"

"I think she's rather ashamed of me." The alcohol had loosened Thomas' tongue, and he found himself saying more than he meant to. "Why am I telling you all this anyway?"

"Because I'm interested."

"Maybe we should go before I really embarrass myself." The two men rose and exited the pub.

"Will you come back to the farm with me?" Paul asked. "I'd like to show you something."

"Alright." When they arrived at Yew Tree Farm, Paul led Thomas into the barn where the sheep were housed. Barrow was confused. "You brought me here to see a sheep?"

"No, we have to go up to the hayloft." Paul pointed at a raised floor and began ascending a ladder. "This is where I sleep."

Thomas followed uncertainly. "I should think old Mason might do a little better."

"No, it's my choice. Come sit here." He indicated a spot on the floor.

The butler removed his coat and hat and hung them on a bent nail before joining the farmhand. "I'm going to be covered in hay."

"We'll brush you off. Now lie back and look out that window."

Thomas obliged and was rewarded by the scene of the brilliant, star-filled sky. Paul lowered himself down next to him. "Do you see that group of stars that sort of look like a bear? That's Ursa Major and the little one above it is Ursa Minor. The constellation on the top right is called Pegasus, named after the winged horse of mythology."

Barrow couldn't make out any particular shapes but held his tongue. He could feel his excitement building at the proximity of the other man. Was he reading too much into this? He didn't want to make the same mistake he had with Kemal Pamuk and Jimmy Kent. He had too much to lose now. "I have to get back. Andy and Daisy will be in by now, and I need to lock up." He brushed off his trousers and reached for his coat and hat.

"Thomas?" the farmhand sounded puzzled.

"Goodnight, Paul." Thomas quickly climbed down the ladder and escaped from the barn. He fought back tears of frustration as he made his way back home.

* * *

The next morning, Thomas heard a knock on his door while he was dressing, and Andy poked his head inside.

"How did it go last night?"

"I don't know what you mean," Thomas replied icily, hoping the footman would take the hint and drop it.

"Your date with Paul, of course."

Thomas nearly fainted. He wrenched the younger man inside and peered out into the corridor. "Where's Billy?" The lone remaining hallboy was the only other male in the servants' quarters.

"He went down a long time ago."

"Jesus, Andy, you can't go around saying things like that."

"Sorry, Mr. Barrow."

"I know you mean well, but you have to stop all this."

"Stop what?" The footman seemed genuinely puzzled.

"Stop trying to play Cupid. Quit acting as if I can have what you have with Daisy when you know I can't."

"But—"

"It's illegal and against God and nature," Thomas spoke more heatedly than he meant to, all his pent-up resentment spilling out. "I could lose my place here and end up in prison. Is that what you want?"

"I just want you to be happy."

"Well, I can't be. Don't you understand that?" He was practically shouting now.

The young footman looked properly chastened.

"I'm sorry, Andy. I'm not angry at you—truly, but we can't talk about this anymore. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Mr. Barrow."

"You can go now. I'll be down in a minute." After Andy left, Thomas dropped into his armchair. The exchange had left him feeling drained.

Several days passed, and Andy returned from a visit to the farm to find Thomas smoking in the courtyard. "Mind if I join you?"

Thomas merely shrugged a reply.

The footman looked about cautiously. "Paul was asking after you."

"Andy—"

"I think he'd like to see you again."

Thomas ground out his cigarette with his toe and returned inside.

Andy watched him go with a look of sadness on his face.

The following Saturday, he approached Thomas once again after dinner. "Daisy and I are going down to the pub. Would you like to come with us?"

Thomas gazed at him suspiciously. "What are you up to?"

"Nothing, Mr. Barrow. I just thought it might cheer you up. You've seemed a little down since … " His voice trailed off awkwardly.

"If I am, it's not something a few pints of ale are likely to fix, is it?"

"You might—meet someone there."

"I don't suppose that _someone_ is Paul," the butler replied sarcastically. "No, you and Daisy go. I think I'll turn in early."

The next morning, Andy once again slipped into Thomas' bedroom. "What is it now?" Thomas inquired, adjusting his tie in front of the glass.

"I have a message for you, and I didn't want anyone else to hear."

"Well? What is it?" Thomas asked impatiently.

"Paul said to tell you he's sorry if he's offended you somehow. He didn't mean to."

"Is that it then?"

"What did he do wrong anyway?"

"Nothing. He did nothing wrong, and I don't wish to discuss it any further, Andrew."

Andy risked incurring the butler's wrath to add, "He was awfully disappointed that you wouldn't come last night, Mr. Barrow."

There was no reply.

"You deserve to be happy too."

Thomas strode out the door without another word.

* * *

The butler was seated in his pantry decanting a bottle of red wine for that night's upstairs dinner when he heard a knock on the door. He looked up to see Andy enter the room. "Can I speak with you, Mr. Barrow?"

"Certainly." Thomas indicated a chair in front of his desk.

"I've just come from the farm. Old Joe is going to live with his daughter, and Mr. Mason offered me his job."

"I see." Thomas hoped his face didn't betray his dismay.

"I told him I'd take it."

"Maybe you should think about it for a while. It's a big step, leaving service. If something should happen to Mr. Mason, where would you be?"

"I'd find another farm to work on. I'll learn all I can and save my money, and in time, I'll get my own place. It won't be much, but it'll be mine."

"It's still a risk, isn't it?"

Andy paused to consider the question. "Sometimes you have to take a chance in life if you ever hope to be happy."

His words resonated with Thomas. "When will you be leaving us?"

"I'll work out my notice if you need me to, but I'd like to go as soon as possible. Mr. Mason can't manage on his own."

"What about Paul?"

"He'll be moving on now that the piglets have all been separated."

Thomas was already mourning the loss of both men. "Let me speak to Lord Grantham and see what we can come up with."

Late that evening, Thomas approached Andy in his room. "I've spoken to His Lordship, and he's agreed to give Billy a trial. He's filled in before, and I know he's anxious to be promoted."

Andy nodded. "He'll make a good footman, better than I was anyway."

"You were a fine footman," Thomas assured him, "but your heart wasn't really in service."

"So does this mean I can leave now?"

"In the morning. You'll want to say a proper goodbye to the other servants and to the family, of course." Thomas was unable to meet the younger man's eye. "I'll miss you."

"Aw, you'll still see me in the pub, and the farm is only twenty minutes away. You could come over whenever you fancy a walk."

Thomas forced a smile. "I'll do that, Andy, and remember, you'll always be welcome here."

"Thank you, Mr. Barrow."

"I think you can call me Thomas now. After all, we're friends, aren't we?"

"Right you are—Thomas." However, both men knew that their paths were unlikely to cross much in the future.

"Well, you'd better get to bed now. You've got a big day tomorrow." Barrow retired to his own room, taking a seat on the bed. He was replaying their earlier conversation in his head. What was it that Andy had said? _Sometimes you have to take a chance in life if you ever hope to be happy._ He leaped up and made his way down the servants' staircase to the back door where his coat hung from a peg and his hat sat on the shelf above. He grabbed them both, along with the door key, and slipped out into the night.

He fought the urge to run and settled for a brisk walk. The path was illuminated by the glow of the moonlight, thrusting everything into long shadows. Soon he spied his destination rising up before him. He approached silently, not wishing to wake either the inhabitants or the dogs that roamed freely about. He lifted the latch and slid through the small opening it created. His eyes soon adjusted to the near-darkness, and he began his ascent up the ladder. He watched Paul stir in the pile of hay. "Who's there?" the farmhand demanded, pulling himself up to a sitting position.

"It's me—Thomas."

"Thomas? What are you doing here?"

The butler removed his hat and coat and lowered himself down beside the other man. "Andy told me that you're leaving soon, and I wanted to say goodbye."

"Here? In the middle of the night?"

"I wanted to give you something too." He leaned forward and planted a tender kiss on the other man's lips.

Neither of them said anything for several seconds. Finally, Paul spoke. "Why did you run away last time?"

"I was scared," Thomas admitted. "I've been wrong before, thinking men were interested when they weren't. I couldn't risk making that same mistake again. With my position at the Abbey, I've got too much to lose now."

"But you came here tonight anyway."

Thomas nodded to himself. "It was something Andy said. He told me, 'Sometimes you have to take a chance in life if you ever hope to be happy.' "

"He's right." Paul began to slowly unbutton Thomas' shirt, setting it aside. He lifted the vest over the butler's head and gently pushed him down into the hay. "And this isn't a mistake." He threw off his own vest and leaned over, pressing his lips to Thomas' in a passionate kiss. Soon the two men were hurriedly removing the remainder of their clothing and began to touch each other with wild abandon. When they were spent, they lay back in the hay staring at the starry night sky through the window.

"Thank you for that. It's been a long time," Thomas said gratefully.

"You don't have to thank me. I enjoyed it too, you know."

"I wish you weren't leaving."

"I have to work, Thomas."

"I don't suppose you'd fancy a job as a footman?"

"Wait at table for a bunch of rich aristos? Not likely. You could always come with me and work on the farms."

"I'm not very good with animals." Thomas was remembering his encounter with the angry sow that might have killed him if not for Andy's quick action.

"If I get up this way again, I'll drop you a line."

"I'd better get back now." Thomas rose reluctantly and began replacing his clothes. "Andy is leaving in the morning, and I have to train up his replacement."

"You'll miss him." It was a statement rather than a question.

Thomas kept silent, afraid that he would start blubbing.

"Be happy for him. It's what he wants."

"I know." He grabbed his coat and gave Paul a quick kiss goodbye before descending the ladder.

The next morning, Thomas saw Andy to the back door. The ex-footman was carrying an old valise containing all his worldly possessions. The butler handed him an envelope. "What is it?" Andy asked in confusion.

"It's a job reference, in case you ever need it."

"I won't."

"Take it anyway."

"Thank you for everything you've done for me, Mr. Barrow—Thomas. Even though I wasn't cut out for a life in service, I'm grateful for all your help." He added, "Will you come and say goodbye to Paul? He'll be going away soon."

"No need."

Andy frowned in defeat. "Well, this is it then." As he reached for his coat, he noticed something amiss. "Where's your hat? It was here last night."

"Oh, I must have left it somewhere or other. Don't worry. I'm sure it'll turn up. Good luck to you, Andy."

The following week, Andy returned to the Abbey carrying a large sack. He found Thomas in his pantry, pouring over the wine ledger. "Andy! It's great to see you again. How's life on the farm?"

"Busy. As a matter of fact, that's why I'm here. I was turning over the hay yesterday, and I found this. It has your name on the hatband." He set the fedora on the desk, fixing him with a knowing grin. "I wonder how it got there."

Thomas' mouth opened and closed comically. He was unable to come up with a plausible explanation.

Andy broke into hearty laughter as Thomas blushed furiously. "And here's me thinking you didn't get to say goodbye."

"So he's gone then?"

"Yes, and he asked me to give you this whenever I saw you again." He reached into the sack once more, this time pulling out a small book.

Thomas turned it over. "Henry Wadsworth Longfellow." There was a bookmark carefully placed between two pages. He opened it to find a section underlined. "It's a poem.

 _"Ships that pass in the night, and speak each other in passing,_  
 _Only a signal shown and a distant voice in the darkness;_  
 _So on the ocean of life we pass and speak one another,_  
 _Only a look and a voice, then darkness again and a silence."_

"What does it mean?" Andy asked, looking puzzled.

"Search me." Thomas placed the book in his desk drawer. "Let's go get a pop."


End file.
